Now the journey is ending,
the wind is losing heart.
Into your hands it's falling,
a rickety house of cards.
The cards are backed with pictures
displaying all the world.
You've stacked up all the images
and shuffled them with words.
And how profound the playing
that once again begins!
Stay, the card you're drawing
is the only world you'll win.
the journey is ending the head is signalling me all would soon be over see all this hair is falling as fast as my memory is fading they turn white totally white as sheets of my memory are though - soon it will be a total backout
the game of card in the world will defeat none but the self at last!
To stay around with the muse of love and life; before taking another decision. Nice work.
In card game the selection of card one makes decides one's chance of victory! It is true also in life the poet says indirectly in this poem perhaps, I belive!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the journey is ending the head is signalling me all would soon be over see all this hair is falling as fast as my memory is fading they turn white totally white as sheets of my memory are though - soon it will be a total backout